Steeling A Little Romance
by RSteele82
Summary: (An ITCHy Story) Seven months after they have crossed that line, Remington and Laura vacation in Hawaii with her family at Christmas. Despite Abigail's full itinerary for them and the Pipers, our favorite couple find time to steal a little romance.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Laura slammed the phone's receiver into its cradle then dropped her face into her hands.

 _Leave it to Mother to throw a wrench into our plans,_ she lamented to herself.

With the careful deliberation of a general planning an invasion, seven weeks ago she'd begun preparations for Remington's Christmas surprise: A little over two weeks – just the two of them – in St. Moretz. Two weeks of no cases to pull them away, no phones interrupting them, no bullets flying. Seventeen days of watching his fine form clad in ski clothes, sweaters and jeans - _Yum_ , was the word that came to mind – followed by fourteen nights of him clad in nothing, if she had her way about it.

Not that he'd complain, she laughed quietly to herself.

Seven months ago, they'd finally crossed that line. It had been nearly four years in the making, and they'd had more than their share of difficulties getting there. But two days of being presumed dead, surviving on only their wits and will, had seemed to render unimportant all the fears and insecurities that had plagued each of them over the years. The only thing that mattered was he'd been there, beside her side, throughout it all. If anyone had been tempted to cut and run, it had been herself. In the aftermath, she'd been left wondering, often, how he'd survived the streets when just a boy. Two nights without a decent meal, trying to find safe shelter in which to sleep, had left its imprint on her: Adventurous she might be, but she didn't naturally come by the mettle required to live at the world's mercy.

All her reasons for keeping him at arm's length had seemed silly, in retrospect. So, that evening as they'd laid before the fire, and he'd teasingly brushed her leg with his glass…

* * *

" _ **Is that your foot on my leg?"**_

" _ **Mmmm hmmmm."**_

* * *

They'd leaned towards one another, their lips meeting softly…

And she'd simply allowed nature to take its course, believing, on faith alone, that he'd be there the next morning, as he'd been there on the streets. And he hadn't disappointed. He'd been there the next morning… and every morning since.

It had been nearly another month before they'd gifted one another the words, and much like their turning the corner, it had happened all on its own. She'd stopped questioning his feelings for her, for she'd come to realize the question he'd asked as they'd argued at the Freidlich Sensitivity Spa held weight:

* * *

" _ **What about deeds?!"**_

* * *

Yes, what about deeds?

She'd started paying attention after that day, and she found those words in so many of his deeds: In the way he kissed her in that heart melting manner of his; in those unconscious touches he'd showered on her from the beginning; in the way he enjoyed cooking for her; in the hand on her back; in the way he looked at her. The words were there in the way he made love with her and how he sought her out, mumbled her name, as he slept.

They'd played hooky one sunny day in the middle of May. Good food, a great white wine, the warm sun, a soft breeze and the company had proved an intoxicating and seductive combination. One kiss had turned to two, two to four, until they'd gradually reclined – he on his side, she on her back – and he'd kissed her until her fingers flexed in his hair, contracted into his shoulder. She practically purred as his lips blazed a whisper soft path down her neck, while his body tremored ever so briefly as her fingertips stroked the back of his neck, toyed with the tips of his hair, and her other hand glided up and down his back. She laughed low in her throat when his fingers slipped a button on her blouse free of its hole.

"Getting a little risqué now, aren't we, Mr. Steele?" she teased, throatily. "What are we, teenagers?"

"I can assure you we are most certainly not that," he murmured. Pressing up on an elbow, his lips wandered over hers, as he spoke. "A teenager couldn't possibly aspire to be what we already are." He bowed his head, latching his lips over her collarbone.

"A hickey?" she laughed. "You're giving me a hickey. What are you doing?" she demanded to know, laughing low in her throat. With a final firm pull of her skin in his mouth, he reared back to admire his work, then blew a gentle breath on the wet spot, drawing goosebumps down her arms.

"I believe you once referred to it as… necking," he murmured.

* * *

" _ **Let's look for a bus stop and neck."**_

* * *

The memory left her laughing against his lips before they departed, to pepper a trail of kisses along her jaw. Unconsciously she arched her neck to give him more access to it.

"The Auburn," she remembered, her voice wistful as she recalled that nearly perfect afternoon. "Care to reenact what we did the day we found it?" He bent back his head try to divine from her eyes what she was suggesting. Surely not that they at last join a long line of people who'd made love in the Auburn… Was she? She raised her brows in a cocky challenge, daring him to decline. He pursed his lips and waggled his brows in answer to the dare.

"I'm game if you are," he hummed, closing his eyes and leaning in for a kiss…

She rolled out from beneath him, a giggle trailing in her wake as she watched his lips meet blanket. When he turned to look at her, she was on her feet in a flash, and darting across the grass. He shook his head in disbelief, then laughed. Of course, she'd have meant their frolic in the park. In an instant, he was on his feet and in pursuit.

He caught her by a large tree, pressing the length of himself against her until her back was against the trunk. She cupped his face in her hands and drew his lips to hers. _Tom Jones_ , indeed, but this time with all of the passion… and so much less of the running. Still, when their lips parted, he kept a hand pressed to the tree trunk on either side of her, should she decide to bolt again. He needn't have worried, for she merely tipped her head and pressed her mouth beneath his ear, and with a touch of her tongue to his skin, savored his rich flavor tinged with a salty tang from his sweat. A jolt of pure longing, of pure happiness… of contentment… flooded his senses, leaving his hands clutching at her waist, at her head.

"Is it any wonder that I love you?" The words tumbled from his mouth without thought, without the angst that merely the thought of saying them normally brought.

"I love you, too," she whispered against his ear, before her lips skimmed along his jaw, found his lips. She kissed him thoroughly, her fingers teasing behind his ears, caressing his neck, his jaw, until he was powerless to stop the hum that rumbled low in his throat. "Take me home, Remington," she murmured, against his lips.

They'd spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening making thorough love to one another, until they were left breathless, spent. The words hadn't been said again that evening… or since… but they hadn't needed to be. The emotions those three words expressed had been between them for years, both of them running from them until they'd finally had no choice but to surrender. By the time the spoken words had arrived, they'd no longer been needed because _deeds_ had long ago expressed them. Still, a smile had been permanently affixed to both of their faces since they'd been said, for those words had been the last wall between them, and now that wall was gone.

It had been remarkably…

 _Freeing._

She'd been looking forward to this trip, more specifically to the uninterrupted time alone. Just them. None of the ceaseless demands of the Agency, of the world around them; no calendars directing where they'd be and when. Just them, on their own time schedule, or on none at all, something he'd been craving, had been trying to arrange, for years. This trip had been her gift to him, to them.

And she had no idea how to tell him it might not happen at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Remington sat on the sand, one leg extended, arms wrapped around the other's bended knee, his eyes fastened on his enchanting partner and lover, as her bare midriff undulated, her hips swayed and her lovely arms gracefully moved. The hula 'auana lessons for all the Holt women and their offspring – Abigail, Laura, Frances, Mindy and Laurie Beth – had been Abigail's brainchild, and, he suspected, he might feel forever indebted to her for it. He had not a single doubt Laura danced for him and him alone when she bestowed upon him a dazzling, dimpled smile. It was one of the moments he knew would stay with him forever, and already he was thinking of how he might commit it to paper, quite permanently.

While she'd been more than a little resistant to the 'silly class,' as she dubbed it when Abigail had surprised everyone with the lessons, Laura had been surprised to find she actually enjoyed it. The dance might hold mythological significance for Hawaiians, but there was a sensual element to the style that couldn't be denied. Certainly her Mr. Steele was held captivated by it, or, more specifically, by her as his eyes had not so much as flickered toward one of the taller, bustier islanders. A prolific flirt he might be, when the occasion called, but she'd come to realize these last months, that he only had eyes for her. At that thought, a dimpled smile lifted her lips, and she put a little more oomph into the sway of her hips, both meant for him and him alone. If his intense, bright, blue eyes and the touch of his tongue to his lips were any indication, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of her that evening…

And that was more than fine by her.

He'd taken Abigail's announcement of a family trip to Hawaii for Christmas surprisingly well. She's expected the requisite amount of pouting and grousing before he gave in, instead he'd simply looked at her and said…

"It's family, Laura. I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time."

Thus, their flight to St. Moritz had been changed, their reservation at the ski resort shifted and shortened, and on the eighteenth of December they'd arrived in this tropical paradise. Abigail, shockingly, had been beyond thoughtful when reserving their rooms at the Wailea Beach Resort – the Pipers and she staying in three rooms in the main buliding, while Remington and Laura would stay in a private, beachside villa.

"Mother, really, you didn't have to do this," Laura had automatically protested at the registration desk when she and Remington were presented with a map on which directions to their villa were spelled out, along with the villa's key.

"It's the least I can do after you changed your plans, Laura, dear," Abigail averred. Laura had been supremely touched by her mother's thoughtfulness, until she'd added, "You two love birds need your privacy," in that sing-song, deprecating way of hers as she'd given Remington a long, adoring look which had left Laura stewing all the way to their villa. _Why not just ask him when he plans to get off his duff and make an honest woman of your daughter,_ she silently raged, _Maybe I don't want to get married, Mother. Did that ever occur to you? I'm a woman of the eighties. Besides, things have been going just fine._

Fine. Beyond fine. Bordering on bliss. _That's_ what the last months had been. They'd never spoken of beyond what they now had, and that was alright by her. She didn't need a piece of paper, a key to a shared home, to know where they stood. He wasn't going anywhere, it was a simple as that, and she trusted him at his word.

And, here they were, in paradise, together.

She gave a mental sigh.

With her family. Hardly what she'd had in mind for their seventeen day getaway, but Remington didn't mind. Long before last April, when she'd announced to her family their personal relationship – her first, halting, step towards moving them ahead – he'd been fascinated by her family, often horning in on invitations or offering up his and Laura's services. To be included as an unofficial member of the family? There were times he was so pleased that a goofy smile would appear on his face, while he shifted from foot-to-foot.

No, her Mr. Steele didn't mind the itinerary her mother had designed for the family, leaving the two of them precious little time alone. On Friday, they'd taken the Road to Hana Tour, and she'd been fine with that – after all, how long could it take to tour a single road? The answer, it turned out, was seven-hours-and-twenty-two minutes, the tour taking them past Hookipa Beach, through Puaa Kaa and Waianapanapa State Parks, along Hana Bay and on short hikes to Puohokamoa, Waikamoi, and Wailua Falls. The scenery had been stunning, the information about the Islands history mind-engaging, but by the time they'd arrived back at the resort, she was more than ready for some time away from her family…

But it wasn't to be, for Abigail had announced they'd all meet in the lobby of the main building in 'one hour' for dinner.

And today? A day of snorkeling at Molokini Crater, then this afternoon, hula lessons. Humor her mother in this, she might, but she'd put her foot down when it came to attending the luau this evening. She wanted time alone with Remington, andA AAEDA AE that, as they say, was that. Thankfully, he seemed to want that time alone with her as much as she, for he hadn't stepped in with his patented…

"Now, Laura…"

As the dance came to an end – which also, for them, signified the end of family time - Laura stepped from the makeshift stage and strutted toward Remington, placing the lei around his neck and giving him a promising kiss when he stood.

"We may have to acquire one of these delightful little ensembles for ourselves," he mumbled next to her ear, before standing back to give her an assessing, admiring look.

"Does the trick, does it?" she smiled, stepping back into his embrace and wrapping her arms around his neck, lifting her brows at him.

"You've no idea," he whispered, before landing a soft kiss against her lips again.

"I'll see what I can do," she promised, then with a final kiss, she left to change back into her clothes in a nearby cabana.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering her an elbow when she returned. She smiled up at him, laying a hand in the crook of his arm.

"Let's," she agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: This chapter contains NC-17 content. If uncomfortable with such material or under age 18, please continue to Chapter 4.**_

* * *

Chapter 3

"Someone's been busy," Laura breathed, trailing a finger over the white linen covered table as she circled around it. She plucked a bloom from the vase of hibiscus, and settled the bloom behind her ear, as she raised her eyes to meet his. He stepped to her, and lay his hands on shoulders left bare by her white halter top.

"It may be a rare night when we can steal a bit of romance for ourselves," he dismissed, quietly.

And romance it had been. Dinner was served by Spago's the infamous Maui restaurant created by the hand of Wolfgang Puck. Basil risotto with North Shore Mahi Mahi was followed by Big Eye Ahi tuna with a ginger-Saki emulsion, all served with a sweet, white wine. After dinner, they'd danced on the terrace beneath the stars, often left only swaying to the music as they kissed. He finally lured her away from the villa with a tug of her hand, guiding her along the sand to a private stretch of beach. The waves lapped at their bare feet, the hem of her long, white skirt, as they languidly strolled hand-in-hand, along the water's edge.

"Uh, Laura," he broke the silence, pausing to swipe a hand over his mouth, "Do you recall what it was I once said about Maui?"

* * *

" _ **The perfect place to explore our feelings would be on a moonlit beach in Maui."**_

* * *

Her spine stiffened. He'd made the statement in the middle of the most spectacular – and potentially devastating – argument they'd ever had. In her fury, she'd believed he'd only been speaking of that still very volatile subject between them – sex – and the argument had only become all the more bitter. Too late, he realized his mistake, and he grabbed her arm when she dropped his hand.

"To talk, Laura, to talk…' he immediately clarified, afraid he'd irrevocably bodged the moment. He thanked the Saints above when her shoulders relaxed, then raised a brow when she turned to him, slowly tugging the bottom tie of her halter loose.

"Words are overrated, Remington," she intoned, in a sultry voice, as she released the top ties of her halter top, then allowed it to fall to the ground, leaving her torso bare to his eyes.. "I have something else in mind." With that, she shimmied out of skirt and panties in one motion, and ran towards the water.

Well, what's a man to do when the most desirable woman he'd ever known, the woman he loved to distraction, asks him to skinny dip by moonlight in the Pacific. Quickly discarding his clothes, he dove into the waves behind her. The frolicked in the warm water, exchanging tantalizing kisses and titillating touches as they played. She finally put an end to the seduction, when she cupped the back of his neck in one hand, pressing her body against his from shoulder to thigh, and stroked the other hand over a bare cheek of his bottom.

"No more playing around, Mr. Steele," she insisted in a throaty voice.

Taking her at her word, his lips covered hers as he lifted her up, thrusting into her when she wrapped her legs around her waist. He closed his eyes and release a stuttering breath at the sensuality of it all: the warm water surrounding their bodies, lapping at them; her hot, tight heat enveloping his erection; her lips under his, as he savored her sweet taste. His knees nearly buckled she began to rise and fall over him, her hands constantly on the move: buried in his hair, kneading his ass, stroking his lower back, slipping between their bodies to caress his chest. His hips moved of their accord, in the rhythm they'd perfected almost from the start.

She hovered on the brink of release almost immediately. It was all… too much. The taste of him lingering on her lips, the feel of his body moving within hers, his hand moving ceaselessly over her body, overwhelming her senses: teasing a breast, stroking a waist, kneading a buttock, tangling in her hair. But she had a few tricks of her own in her bag… tricks that were guaranteed to annihilate that steel-willed stamina of his, and she wanted him to go over that most sought after cliff with her. Dropping her head forward, she whispered against his ear…

"Together… Remington…"

Then she latched her mouth over his collarbone drawing his skin into her mouth. He seemed to have almost a powerful need to have her claim him as her own in some way, and the blemish being left by the pull of her mouth said she was laying possession to him, if only for this moment. The name moving over her lips, the feeling of her mouth suckling at him, had the desired effect, and he shifted slightly, giving himself more traction, thrusting his shaft faster, deeper, harder until he shuddered, spilling himself deep within her as he mumbled her name. Releasing her own tenuous hold, she allowed the wavse of pleasure to roll through her, her body clenching at his shaft, fluttering around it as she cried out his name.

He peppered kisses along her shoulder on top of her head, as she quaked in his arms afterward. She didn't even think to question how he was keeping them upright on his shaky legs. When her body fully calmed and she'd regained her ability to think coherently, she shifted her hips, separating their bodies, then pushed away from him to float on her back. Following her lead, he lay on his back. They listened for long minutes to the sound of the water gently lapping at their bodies, the rippling around a hand, or foot when it moved… to the waves crashing softly at the shore.

"That was…" She fell silent again as she searched for the word.

"Spectacular?" he suggested. "Phenomenal? Mind-altering?" She turned her head in the water and smiled at him.

"Memorable… Very, very memorable," she corrected, then returned her gaze towards the star-dappled, night sky. She listened as he rolled from his back, and waded towards her.

"It is my sincere hope," he told her, earnestly, "There is still an unforgettable moment or two to come." Cupping the back of her head, he brushed his lips to hers. Rolling to her feet, she turned her back to him, then looked over her shoulder and lifted a pair of brows at him in challenge.

"We'll see…" she smiled, then dove into the water and swam towards the shore.

* * *

 _ **A/N: My daughter will post the final chapters of Steeling a Little Romance tomorrow as I start my travels. Happy Holiday's all! ~RSteele82**_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After dressing, Laura and Remington had returned to the villa, where he'd removed a chilled bottle of champagne from the ice bucket. His eyes rested on her as he uncorked the bottle, watching as she set her hair free of the French braid, finger combing it, then letting it hang loose to dry. He couldn't say why he found the natural curl of her hair so endearing. Maybe it was a simple as the fact the only time she allowed it to curl wild and free was when they were alone. It bespoke of… intimacy. He shrugged his shoulders, and poured them each a flute of champagne. Handing her one, he raised his, signaling a toast.

"To us," he proposed, enunciating each word, as a pair of intense blue eyes met her brown ones. She blinked, as butterflies inexplicably fluttered in her stomach, and raised her glass.

"To us," she seconded, her eyes never leaving his as their arms entwined in a lover's toast. The first sip bubbled against her lips and tongue. "It's good," she commented.

"I'm glad you approve," he grinned, then lifted a silver lid from a platter to reveal a bowl of chocolate dipped strawberries that made her mouth positively water. Picking up the bowl, he gestured towards the veranda. "Shall we?"

They situated themselves on a lounge chair, she seated between his legs, her head resting against a shoulder. When he lifted a strawberry and held it before her mouth, she took a bite of the succulent fruit.

"You romantic, you," she teased after she'd swallowed the bite.

"Mmmm, and I've yet to even begin." With a lift of his brows he drew the strawberry along a shoulder then bowed he his head to savor her flavored skin.

He took his time about it, offering her a bite here, treating himself to a taste there. When he lifted a fall of hair over her shoulder, and trailed a berry along the back of her neck, she shivered and pulled in a soft breath at the sensation, and tangled her fingers with those on the hand at her waist. Finally setting aside the fruit, he used a pair of fingers to tip back her chin and he leaned in for a dazzling kiss that left her breathless.

"You're in rare form," she observed, blinking up at him.

"The sound of the waves crashing against the shore…" He spattered soft kisses across her face as he spoke. "The moonlight glistening on the water… You, in my arms… How could I not be?" She smiled up at him and lay her fingertips at his jaw. "As a matter of fact, there's only one thing more I could wish for." Her eyes widened, and a smile lifted her lips, as her hand caressed his neck.

"Oh? And what might that be?" He cupped her face in his hand, his thumb stroking her cheek, as a pair of bright blue eyes intently examined her face.

"Marry me, Laura. Marry me… here… on Christmas Eve."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Laura's lips parted in surprise and she gave her head a little shake, convinced she couldn't have heard him correctly. Maybe it was the wine talking. Or the champagne. Or the chocolate. Or any combination thereof.

"I'm sorry. I must have misheard. _What_ did you say?" The corners of his lips twitched with amusement.

"I said… Marry me," he repeated, enunciating each word and lifting his brows on the last, to convey his sincerity. She sat up and faced away from him.

"Marry you?" She stood up and paced away from the chair, rubbing at her arms. " _Marry_ you," this time said as a statement. She turned to face him. "We've never even discussed living together, let alone getting married," she pointed out, the rational side of her brain kicking in. _"Married._ "

He gained his feet, then crossed the terrace, picking up his flute of champagne to sip at it. Leaning his backside against the half-wall, he gave her the time she'd need to digest the question. He hadn't imagined it would be a simple proposal – not by a long shot. This _was_ Laura, after all. There would still be more questions to come, including about the state of his sanity, all of it couched in disbelief that _he_ wished to bind himself to her for the remainder of his days. And then? A good deal of convincing would be needed on his part.

"Married," she breathed again. "Are you _serious_?" He reached into his pocket and removing a velvet jeweler's box, snapped it open, then set it on the ledge of the wall facing her.

"I should think _this_ speaks for itself." It took more effort than he would have liked to appear casual when he lifted the glass of champagne back to his lips.

In spite of herself, she was drawn forward. The ring, alone, spoke of how well he knew her: a square-cut center stone – not too small, not too large – flanked by two slightly smaller, similarly cut diamonds, all set into s simple, platinum band. It was elegant in its simplicity, and she could wear it at any time – work, home, special occasions – with a great deal of pride. She yanked back her hand when she involuntarily reached out to touch it.

"I think the tropics have gone to your head, Mr. Steele," she announced, gesticulating with her hand.

"To the contrary. I've never been more certain of anything in my life." She stared at him, then with a shake of her head, paced away from him.

"Married," she pondered again. She latched on to the first thought that came to mind. "We don't even know if we could live together day-in and day-out without wanting to strangle one another."

"We've been living together for near on six months now, and in my eyes, we've done well enough. Am I mistaken?"

His claim had her brows drawing together and her arms encircling herself. Standing, he crossed the veranda and pressed her glass of champagne into her hand, before he stepped inside to retrieve the open bottle, giving her a bit of time alone with her thoughts.

Living together? If they had been, she hadn't realized it, certainly hadn't labeled it.

Living together? She envisioned her closet where a goodly portion of his wardrobe now resided; pictured her bathroom where his shampoo was permanently ensconced in her shower, where his razor, shaving cream, aftershave, and toothbrush had found their home on the counter. When she focused on his flat, she found it much the same, if reversed: her clothes sharing space with his and all her personal items stashed in his bathroom, be it in drawers or on the counter along side his. They went to sleep together each night, they woke next to each other in the morning. They departed for work together, arrived home – to whoever's home – at the end of the day together.

When Wilson had moved in with her, the event had been surrounded by hoopla. What should she get rid of, what should he leave behind? How much space should she cede to him in closet and drawers? A date when cohabitation would begin had been set. The night before that magical day arrived, they had dinner at a swanky little restaurant he liked; the day of, she'd alternated between worry over the details, and daydreaming in her giddiness. It had been a monumental milestone.

Whereas with she and Remington, it had happened so quietly she'd never heard the alarm bell sound. Instead, she'd been happy… content. Happier and more content than she could ever recall being before. A testament to their long friendship, perhaps, that it had happened so naturally, with such ease? A by-product of how hard and for how long they'd battled to get exactly here? It could be either… or both.

Rubbing at her arms, she walked across the terrace to the wall where the ring still lay in its box. She leaned over, peered at it, maintaining a respectable distance as though it might jump out and bite her. Standing upright, her eyes still on the ring, she fingered her throat.

She was shocked to discover how badly she wanted that ring and all it implied. She'd never envisioned marriage to him, maybe for no other reason than she believed he'd never consider it… even worse, _want it._ To know that he did? She stepped forward and fingered the ring, the sudden surge of longing making her shiver.

"I'm not saying yes," she spoke when the smell of his cologne in the air indicated his return, "But, purely hypothetically, how could we even possibly get married only three days from now?" She turned to look at him. "There are certain niceties even you can't get around. A marriage license, to start." He resumed his spot at the wall, and setting his glass down on the ledge, shoved his hands into his pockets.

"We can apply for a license on Monday morning, have it in hand Tuesday," he shrugged. "The wedding would take place on the dock in front of our villa at sunset. The officiant has already been reserved. Your family is here, and Mildred will arrive Christmas Eve day. The only details left to attend to are your dress and my ring, should you wish me to wear one, which I would, with pride." A puzzle came together and, when it did, a horrifying thought was brought to mind. She pressed a palm against her forehead.

" _Please_ tell me you haven't been conspiring with Mother." It was to his credit that the look of confusion on his face was so genuine.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Her, the sudden desire for a Hawaiian Christmas." She waved her arm back and forth. "You, apparently planning a wedding." He laughed low in his throat, truly amused by the suggestion.

"Don't be absurd, Laura," he scolded lightly. "I've no desire to start my married life sleeping upon a sofa, and I suspect you discovering I'd conspired with your Mother would have exactly that consequence." Her eyes met his and she laughed. "I simply couldn't seem to let go of the possibilities the change of plans offered," he admitted, growing serious. She turned somber and walked to the wall, standing beside him, but her eyes focused on the water beyond.

"Just tell me this," she requested in a low voice. "Why marriage?" _Here it is, old sport. Bodge this, and she may not give you another chance at it._ Removing his hands from his pockets, he stepped behind her and lay his hands on her shoulders.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, a soft squeeze of her shoulders urging her to turn around and face him. "I love you," he closed his eyes and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, before backing away and lifting her chin with a pair of fingers. "I can't imagine a life without you next to me." Her eyes searched his face for even the slightest hint of indecision and found none.

"Then ask me again."

He didn't hesitate. He removed the ring from its velvet bed, then on a whim, took her hand in his and dropped to his knee. He slid the ring over her finger, letting it hover over the second knuckle.

"Marry me, Laura, on Christmas Eve."

"Alright. I will." She waited until he slid the ring on her finger, then cupped his face in her hands and bent down to kiss him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The bride wore a white sheath, with a modified bustle that billowed in the light breeze; the groom the navy blue pinstripe his bride-to-be favored on him. Mildred stood up for Remington, Frances for Laura and Donald gave Laura away. Abigail made no attempt to conceal her tears as her daughter, at last, exchanged vows with the man before her.

Remington's thumb stroked the hand he held in his.

"Remington, if you'll repeat after me," the officiant requested. "I, Remington…"

"…Take thee, Laura," he repeated solemnly, his eyes holding fast with hers, "To be my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death us do part." The officiant turned to Laura.

"If you'll repeat after me…"

"I, Laura, take thee, Remington, to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…"

"In sickness and in health…" relayed the officiant.

"In sickness and in health," she repeated.

"To love, cherish and obey, till death us do part..." A dimpled smile appeared on her face, and her eyes danced with humor up at Remington.

"Nice try," she commented, in a droll undertone, then said aloud, "To love and to cherish, until death do us part." He couldn't help the crooked smile that graced his face.

"A man has to try to get a hand up where he can," he noted with a wag of his brows.

"A man may still find himself sleeping on that honeymoon couch," she deadpanned, humor still glinting in her eyes.

Which is why bride and groom were laughing, as they walked down the pier hand-in-hand after being pronounced husband and wife.

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That night, Laura and Remington made love, then collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs. Reaching down, he tugged at the sheet until it covered their midsections, leaving their legs bare. She swirled her fingers throughout his dampened chest hair then pressed a lingering kiss against his salty neck before rolling to her side, he following and wrapping his lean frame around hers. Holding her left hand in her right, she stroked a thumb over the pair of rings on her finger, studying them at length, as she did a mental assessment.

Did she feel any differently? No, she still felt like Laura Holt, and surprisingly, unlike her days with Wilson, she felt no compulsion to change. She laughed softly to herself, as she acknowledged the truth of the matter: Of course, she didn't feel the need to change. From the very start Remington had been trying to coax _all of_ _her_ to the surface, those parts of herself she'd hidden away when their cost had been her relationship with the man she'd loved. He wished her to be no one other than who she was, and loved her, despite her faults… maybe in part because of them.

Remington was equally enthralled by the ring on his finger, although much better at concealing it, thumbing the backside of the ring, unseen. He considered the weight of the ring – and the weightiness of the commitment it symbolized, searching his psyche for any signs of panic. For the man who'd never stayed anywhere for more than a few months at a time, to tie himself for life to one person, one place… there was a certain logic that said some small portion of himself would already be seeking the way out. But the only thing he found was… peace. He'd spent the entirety of his childhood wishing for a home, a place to belong, but it hadn't been until decades later – long after he'd dismissed the notion as so much foolishness – that he'd unwittingly found it… the day he walked into the offices of the Remington Steele Agency and met Laura Holt.

"Laura?" She dropped the hand she'd been studying, as though embarrassed by the thought of being caught.

"Hmmm?" He reached for that hand she'd been considering and weaved his fingers with hers.

"Have you given any thought to your name?" he wondered aloud. She pursed her lips, remaining quiet for long seconds.

"I have," she finally answered.

"And? What's it to be?" She turned to her back and threaded her fingers through his hair.

"It's Steele. Laura Steele," she answered with a quiet confidence, that left his heart pounding, for in choosing that name, she'd irrevocably claimed him as hers, in a way even their marriage had not. She'd finally accepted that he _was_ the man he'd striven to be for years, who he wished to be, who he saw himself as: Remington Steele. He was now a man with not only a home, but an identity all his own. There could be no more perfect gift.

"Then Happy Christmas, Mrs. Steele," he told her in voice grown gruff with emotion, as he brushed her hair back over her shoulder and cupped her cheek in his hand. A pair of glimmering brown eyes met his.

"Merry Christmas, _Mr. Steele._ "


End file.
